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Chapter 155: The Plague Who Trains The Living
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Chapter 157: The Cost
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... ss southern wastes, where the bones of old wars were still being picked clean by scavengers and sons.
He had tasted steel and blood before his voice had deepened, and by the time he saw his sixteenth summer, he’d already left behind more corpses than memories.
In the south, they called him The pale slaughter, not for his skin but for how little emotion he showed when carving through men.
There was no poetry in his violence, no pride. Just hunger. The unending, gnawing ach ...
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